


A Slice of the New Life

by Elayna



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elayna/pseuds/Elayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and John are on a road trip to save Lucy (and Holly) again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slice of the New Life

"Are we there yet?" Matt joked sleepily, not even opening his eyes. Traveling all day and night, changing drivers every few hours, meant that he'd gotten accustomed to sleeping while sitting in the car. It was an exhausting way to travel, but was helping them to stay alive. You couldn't be eaten if you couldn't be caught. 

And there was nothing like coming close to being a zombie snack to make Matt realize he was very fond of living. 

"This looks like a good place to stock up." John drove the Prius onto the highway off-ramp, navigating around the cars left parked on the shoulder. Matt didn't understand why so many people had abandoned their cars. Being on foot was not an advantage. Zombies were slow, but they were persistent fuckers who never tired. 

The entire trip could have gone much faster, except they frequently had to stop to push abandoned cars off the road. In retrospect, the almost deserted freeways during the fire sale had been a miracle of almost Hollywood proportions. Matt missed that emptiness.

John drove up to a gas station and got out of the car first, looking around, shotgun in hand. No sound, no movement, just a completely deserted gas station in the nowheresville of the vast Midwest. He gave Matt a nod and started to fiddle with the gas pumps. 

Matt grabbed the canvas bags and his machete from the back seat, tucking the weapon into the improvised back holster. He wished he could use a shotgun, but his aim simply wasn't good enough to guarantee head shots, and anything less only annoyed the creatures. "Anything I should look for?" 

"Fresh shirt would be good." 

Miracle of miracles, the AM/PM hadn't been completely ransacked. There was something to be said for a lower population density. Matt loaded the canvas bags with trail mix, beef jerky, potato chips, Hostess pies, and any other foods that didn't need refrigeration. He even threw in a few candy bars to be eaten before the chocolate melted in the sun on the back seat. 

He flipped through the selection of t-shirts, designs to appeal to tourists or hicks, before hesitating on one with FDNY on the front. Would John find that comforting, a touch of home, or depressing? Cops, firefighters, and other emergency personnel had been the first victims of the Collapse and the ravenous hordes, throwing themselves at the zombie menace to protect civilians. It was hard to predict how John would react, as he was a master of cynical stoicism. Matt finally bypassed that shirt, selecting a brown one with a majestic wolf and a black with an American eagle. Nature was always good. 

He took a last ramble around the AM/PM, knowing it would take John time to gas up. They'd escaped New Jersey in a pick-up, which had seemed the perfect vehicle for John's machoism. Unfortunately, getting 12-15 miles per gallon while driving across the country had sucked, especially with never knowing if the gas pumps would still have power to work, or futz out when they couldn't connect to verify a credit card. They'd found a Prius the second day and switched. Practicality won over style when the stakes were survival. 

Since the electricity was still on, Matt added a pack of cold Red Bull from the refrigerator section on top of one with bag, and some Starbuck's frappuccinos on the other. He'd take his small pleasures wherever he could find them. 

A small shuffling noise alerted him, and he glanced at the round mirror at the end of the aisle. One of the creatures was shambling toward him, almost sneakily, since it wasn't making the customary moaning noises. It had once been a man, middle-aged, overweight, and tall. Setting down his laden bags and pulling his machete from its strap, Matt waited patiently until it shuffled closer. One swing to the right and a second slash to the left took its arms off at the elbows. The thing stared almost in surprise at its suddenly short limbs. Matt hated that look, when the creature appeared almost human again. Rising on his toes, he dealt a third swift swing, which sent the head rolling, ending that problem. 

The sound of double shotgun blasts came sharply from outside. Matt didn't run – he'd learned not to make the mistake of rash action in the first few hours after the Collapse – but kept his machete raised as he approached the door.

"All clear!" John yelled. "You okay?" 

With a sigh of relief, Matt opened the door. "I took care of one in here." 

"A man?" 

"Yeah." 

"A woman and a teenager," John said, gesturing to the bodies. Matt didn't look at them. What would be the point? They weren't people any more, just the corpses of creatures, dangerous, evil creatures that had to be destroyed. "Could just be a family that got left here, but I'll do a check." 

"The electricity's on. You want something nuked?"

"Christ, yes. Anything warm." 

"Something hot coming up," Matt promised with determined cheerfulness, returning inside. Jerky and trail mix kept the body functioning, but they failed to provide the emotional satisfaction of a hot meal. 

Nuked burritos and mini-pizzas were nirvana, especially when washed down with cold Red Bull, while sitting on a stone bench in front of a deserted AM/PM with John at his side. Life had mostly sucked since the Collapse, but Matt could still find bliss in small moments. 

"Eventually we won't be able to find that stuff," John said, nodding at the drink in Matt's hand. "Where's it bottled? China?" 

"Coffee won't be coming up from Latin America either," Matt retorted, giving a nod back at the cup of instant black coffee John was drinking. Only John could be happy with Folger's Crystals. 

"Everything's going to be different." 

"We can try to make it better. Create a better world," Matt started, launching into his favorite topic, rambling on the possible new economy and re-distribution of assets. John had kept him alive, taught him to dispatch the creatures coolly and efficiently, and shown him that life could be worth living in a crazy world, but the hope for an optimistic future kept him sane. They'd had this conversation several times already, needing the repetition of words to accept their new reality. Thomas Gabriel had tried to send America back to the dark ages with his fire sale, but he hadn't truly wanted to succeed in destroying the country. He'd needed the world to remain modern and industrial to enjoy his ill-gotten gains in luxury. The damage that his plans had caused was peanuts compared to the unexpected and horrifying Collapse of the zombie apocalypse. 

As Matt considered aloud how property ownership would be handled in a new world where most landowners were dead, he realized he was beginning to hate the 4th of July weekend. Maybe they should create new holidays when they rebuilt America. Assuming they could even succeed in their first goal, of reaching Holly and Lucy, who'd been able to call and report that they were holed up in a gated mansion with a sophisticated security system in the hills overlooking Los Angeles. 

Hopefully Jack was doing okay wherever the hell he was hiding. They knew the zombie plague had spread rapidly around the world, but frantic newscasters yelling in fear at the camera hadn't given the most reliable, detailed reports, and then even those bursts of hysteria had disappeared when the modern telecommunications system had crashed. 

Matt and John never discussed Jack. Even John had to accept searching the entire world was unrealistic. Getting from the east coast to the west was being difficult enough. 

As Matt take a momentary lull to focus on unwrapping his blueberry pie, John just gave one of those looks, somehow fond and yet cynical at the same time. "They were skinny." 

"Skinny? The creature I took out – well, actually, he'd been fat, but it was – " Matt waved his hand up and down his body, "hanging on him. Like he'd lost weight but not in the right places. You think they could be starving?" How much food did a zombie need anyway? Did they eat everything, or just the meatiest parts? Matt had never stayed around to found out. 

"I hope so."

Matt munched on his pie, contemplating whether zombies would become cannibals or starve once the human population was depleted until it was reduced to survivors who could protect themselves. "That would simplify things." 

"Or at least slow them down, make them easier to kill." 

"We could start rebuilding sooner," Matt said, picking up on the creation of a new world again. After all, they couldn't discuss the latest baseball game, the newest stupid reality show, or the most recent political scandal. All those elements of everyday life were gone forever. 

Well, sports would be back. And corrupt politicians. Those things seemed inherent in human nature. But hopefully reality shows wouldn't be recreated when or if the television industry returned. Some good could emerge from the Collapse. 

John, Matt knew, thought martial law would rule for many years, the population controlled by the biggest and baddest men with the most powerful weapons, until the zombie threat was vanquished. But he seemed to like the distraction of Matt's vision. 

He licked blueberry pie off his fingers and finished his Red Bull, instinctively tossing the can into the heavy stone garbage can that no one would empty. "OF course, a lot of it will depend on the population distribution that remains." 

"What, black, white?" 

Matt shook his head. "No, age distribution. I mean, the very young and the old probably haven't survived. I bet most people are in their teens to their fifties. Repopulation will be a priority." 

"You sound like the end of Dr. Strangelove." 

"Dr. Strangelove?" 

"You haven't seen Dr. Strangelove? Okay, after we rescue Holly and Lucy, we'll find a DVD somewhere in Los Angeles and watch it. There must be hundreds of copies around the city." 

Yeah, Matt could just see Holly agreeing to sit down for two hours in a DVD rental store to watch a movie. "So what happens?"

"The world's going to be destroyed by nuclear war and all the old, white politicians and military guys are going into a bunker with 10 young females each to have lots of kids. And Slim Pickens rides the first bomb down." 

"He rides the first bomb down? So he's at the center of the blast?"

"Hey, it was funny," John defended. "Black humor." 

"You generation had weird taste. Speaking of repopulation, do you suppose Holly can still have kids?" 

John snorted in amusement. "No way would Holly have sex with me again." 

"She shouldn't anyway, not if we want to spread the gene pool. I wonder if there are still fertility specialists around? And if we could even keep the electricity going to save eggs and sperm? If not, everything will have to be done the old-fashioned way." 

"Hey." John gave him a look, a look that said somehow Matt had hit a sore point. He wrapped a hand around the back of Matt's neck and the other around his bicep and tugged Matt into his lap. Matt went willingly, letting himself be arranged with his knees on the bench, his thighs spread over John's. 

John gave him a kiss, open-mouthed and lingering and domineering, the absolute best of John's kisses. "You are not sleeping with anyone except me." 

"It might be my civic duty," Matt protested cheekily, which earned him another of those kisses, until he was panting into John's mouth, and grinding his hard cock against John's. Yes, John had definitely taught him that life could still be worth living in a world gone mad. 

"Fuck civic duty." John's big hands cupped Matt's ass, squeezing strongly. "I'm the only person who is going to fuck you." 

"If I was having sex with a woman for purposes of procreation, I don't think we'd get into pegging," Matt suggested, poking at the dragon. 

"Jesus, is there only one way to shut you up?" John reached between their bodies, working on his belt. 

"That's certainly an effective way. As long as you can keep it up." 

"No," John replied, pushing Matt off his lap. "I want to hear you. Up against the hood. Get your pants down." Obviously expecting to be obeyed, John jogged into the AM/PM. 

Picking up his machete and John's shotgun, because he was horny but not stupid, Matt put them on the hood of the car in easy reach, before undoing his pants, pushing his clothes down to his ankles and spreading his legs wide. The hood was warm on his hands but thankfully they were parked in the shade of the station's roof. Getting a sunburn on his ass would not be fun. 

He heard the noise of the door opening again and John jogging out, before inserting one oiled finger in Matt's ass with little finesse. 

"I want to hear you." 

John was efficient, thorough, stretching Matt quickly, brushing his prostate frequently to arouse him. 

"Hear me?" 

"Come on, you talk all the damned time. Talk to me." 

"About what? About how good you make me feel? About how good your cock feels in my ass?"

John rewarded Matt with a lingering stroke on his prostate, making Matt squirm on his fingers. "Yeah, that's good." 

"Don't tease, John. Don't tease. Shove – " Matt lost his breath as John obeyed, with one forceful thrust that felt like he was splitting Matt into two. John's strong hands clasped Matt's bare hips, shoving him toward the car and then back onto his cock. 

Talking was a struggle when John fucked him like a champion race horse, but Matt tried, gasps of "Fuck" and "Good, so good" and "More, more, Jesus, John more." They would have been arrested in the old world, for having sex in a public place, and one or both of them disparaged, Matt for having sex with a man old enough to be his father, John for succumbing to the lures of a boy toy. 

None of that mattered. Nothing existed except John's cock and how good it made Matt feel, the sensation of the thick length spearing into his ass, the press on his prostate sending sharp shocks throughout his entire nervous system, his own hard cock bobbing in the fresh air, occasionally brushing on the warm metal of the car's side. 

John released one hip, taking hold of Matt's cock, stroking it, the calluses on John's hands, formed by handling guns all his life, rubbing roughly on Matt's smooth skin. The contrast made Matt gasp, his back arching, head tilting to rest on John's strong shoulder. Giving a last deep thrust, John came with a yell, his come spilling into Matt's ass, driving Matt into his own orgasm. 

The side of the car was a mess now, Matt thought with a giggle as he collapsed onto the hood, feeling amazing. Maybe they could find an automated carwash still working. Why hadn't they been doing this for the last year? Why had they been so stupid to let their differences keep them as friends? The fumbled handjobs they'd shared after escaping New York had been unplanned celebrations of survival, but the sex had just gotten better and better, more intense and yet somehow more comfortable at the same time. 

Matt felt John wiping down his groin and thighs, glancing back to see that John's chest was now bare. "Oh, I found you new shirts." 

"Good." John kissed each of Matt's ass cheeks gently, before pulling up his underwear and pants, dressing Matt again. "You okay?" 

"Yeah." Matt twisted to lean against the car, careful to avoid the mess. "I just need a moment." 

John smiled, and that look was definitely one of masculine pride, which Matt might find irritating if he wasn't feeling so incredibly well-fucked. "I'll pack up," he said, before giving Matt one hard kiss. Matt watched as John found the shirts in the canvas bags, and put on the eagle, then tucked the bags behind the front car seats, where either of them could easily grab a snack while the car was in motion. He also returned the machete and the shotgun to the back seats, checking on the supply of shotgun shells. 

Matt gave a stretch, feeling like his spine was popping, pulling himself together. "You ready for me to drive?" 

"Nah. I'll take another few hours." 

John insisted on doing more than his share of the driving, but Matt let him. John in control was better than John being twitchy. "Okay."

They got back into the Prius and John drove onto the freeway, heading west again. Matt settled as comfortably as he could and tried to nap. They had a long way to go and only a hope that they would find Holly and Lucy at the end. 

But they were together and at this moment, that was all that mattered. 

~ the end ~


End file.
